


Third Gear, Hang On Tight

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Remembered First Time, mechanic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: In which Chris owns a garage, and Peter is the uncle of one of his employees





	Third Gear, Hang On Tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HDHale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDHale/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 Petopher Secret Santa, for hd-hale, and the prompt 'Mechanic AU.' Song title from The Beach Boys' 'Little Honda.'

Chris looked up as he heard the soft sound of the car engine, a smile crossing his lips. Signing off on the invoice he was putting together, he saved it and closed the laptop before heading out of the office. Leaning against the wall, Chris watched as Derek glanced up from the bike he was working on, waiting until the driver of the Porsche that had just pulled in got out of the car.

The $5,000 suit Peter was wearing looked out of place in the garage, as perfectly shined leather shoes made their way around the oil streaks and engine parts scattered across the floor.

"Derek," Peter said, finally stopping next to where his nephew was crouched down, "your mother asked me to remind you not to be late tomorrow."

"I'm hardly likely to be late for Dad's birthday party, Peter," Derek replied, not actually looking up as he reached out for the wrench on the floor next to the bike. His fingers wiggled slightly, a frown crossing his face as he glanced over to realise it was just out of reach.

With an exaggerated sigh, Peter bent down and tapped the wrench with his fingers, sliding it close enough for Derek to grab, and making the trousers of that expertly fitted suit stretch across his ass.

"Really, boss?" The amused voice next to him pulled Chris out of the thoughts of Peter's ass.

Erica was grinning at him when he looked over to her.

"What?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

She shook her head, laughing, like she knew precisely where his thoughts were. Which, to give Erica her dues, she probably did. Erica seemed to have the ability to know exactly what was going on with anyone at any time. "I'm done with the camero," she said, before walking away, obviously deciding not to comment further on the fact she'd caught her boss ogling her colleague's uncle.

Not that Peter was just the uncle of one of Chris' employees. It may have started that way. Started with Peter bringing his car in because the dealership he normally went to couldn't fit him in and he ended up in the garage his nephew worked in.

It had started with Chris telling Peter he was a fucking idiot who had been paying way too much money for some idiots who called themselves 'car technicians' - Chris' eyes had nearly rolled out of his head when he'd heard that - to fix shit that didn't need fixing in the first place. Which was something else that also annoyed Chris. He'd opened the garage up because he loved working on cars and bikes, loved the feel of fixing what was broken or worn down. He hadn't gone into it because he liked ripping people off, and he hated those kind of dickwad mechanics that gave the rest of them a bad name.

And although Peter may not have liked hearing it, he trusted Derek's opinion enough to believe Chris. (He'd also threatened to sue the dealership, and since Peter Hale was one of the top litigation lawyers in the country, Chris hadn't been surprised to hear it had been settled out of court.)

A few days after Derek had told Chris that Peter had effectively taken to dealership to the cleaners, Peter himself had come into the garage. Chris had been about to close up. Derek, Erica, Ethan, and Boyd had already gone for the day, and Chris had just finished off the last of the paperwork he wanted to get sorted before he left for the night, when there'd been a knock at the reception area door.

Chris had opened it, expecting to be telling someone to come back in the morning, only to find Peter standing there, holding a bottle of whiskey. Chris had eyed the bottle, pretty sure that label meant the bottle had cost more than his first car had, when Peter had held it out, raising an eyebrow until Chris took the bottle out of his hands.

"A thank you for informing me of the little deception my previous place was carrying out," Peter had said, walking past Chris and into the garage's reception room. "Now, where do you keep the glasses?"

There had been part of Chris that wanted to tell Peter to get out, to just go home and crawl into bed. But he'd been unable to deny that there had been something about Peter Hale that was intriguing. Annoying as fuck, but intriguing.

He'd headed over to the small alcove in the corner of the room, reaching up to the shelf above the table there. The bottle of whiskey had been opened as soon as the two mugs were down from the shelf, a good portion of alcohol going in each of them.

There had been a pause before Peter had finally taken the mug Chris had been holding out, and Chris hadn't been sure if it was because Peter hadn't wanted to be seen holding a mug declaring "I'm a fucking unicorn" on it, or because it hadn't been a ridiculously expensive glass to drink the ridiculously expensive whiskey out of.

If Chris was being honest with himself, that was pretty much the last part of the night that he remembered clearly. He knew there had been drinking, both mugs being topped up more than a few times, and he was pretty sure that he had told Peter that he was a pretentious bastard but goddamn if Chris didn't want to fuck him anyway.

He'd woken up the next morning, sacked out on the couch in his office. His t-shirt was in a bundle on the floor, lube and come stains on it, and his jeans and boots had been kicked somewhere across the other side of the office. There'd been no sign of Peter, no sign that the previous night had been anything but an alcohol fuelled wet dream, except for the now nearly empty bottle of whiskey sitting on his desk.

Peter had come in a few days later, to drop something off with Derek, and he'd all but ignored Chris, doing nothing more than glancing in his direction before he'd left. So Chris had chalked that night up to a one off; a one night stand that Peter was obvious pretending never happened. Which was kind of irritating, since Chris would have preferred to actually remember fucking Peter Hale, instead of just getting the occasional memory of skin and want and the half gasped out way Peter had said his name.

But a couple of nights later, when Chris was the last one in the garage again, Peter had turned up.

He'd placed a hand on Chris' chest as he'd pushed him back into his office, the "let's try it without the whiskey this time," murmured before Peter's lips had been on his.

That night, Chris remembered. He remembered the way Peter had straddled him on the sofa, both of them hard behind denim as they'd made out like teenagers, grinding against each other. He remembered the frantic way they'd pulled off their jeans and the way he'd had to pinch the base of his cock to stop himself from coming as he watched Peter slide fingers into his own ass to stretch himself open.

He remembered the way lube-slick fingers had rolled the condom over him, and he more than remembered the way Peter had bit at his lower lip as he'd sunk down onto Chris' cock. The way Peter's hands had gripped at his shoulders as he'd ridden him. Chris remembered the weight and heat of Peter's cock as he'd reached out to jerk him off, and the soft cry Peter had given as he'd come, wet warmth on Chris' fingers as Peter had clenched around his cock, milking Chris' own orgasm from him.

It carried on from there, with Peter turning up on nights when Chris was alone in the garage. They'd fucked over every inch of the place, with Chris having to buff Peter's finger marks off more than one car, left there as he'd bent Peter over the hood while driving into him.

Shifting slightly, he readjusted his stance, grateful that Erica had already walked away, because he knew she wouldn't have been able to keep quiet about the semi-hard cock that was now making itself known in Chris' jeans.

Chris watched as Peter took a step away from Derek, expecting the other man to turn and walk back to his car. Instead, though, Peter carefully stepped over the deconstructed engine Ethan and Boyd had laid out across the floor, heading straight for Chris.

A quick glance downwards had a smirk crossing Peter's lips. "Honestly, Christopher, if car parts turn you on then maybe owning a garage wasn't the right career choice."

Peter's voice was low, amused. So vastly different to the last time Peter had spoken to him, reduced to a rough growl after Chris had fucked his throat two nights before. Chris' fingers twitched, and he had to stop himself from reaching out and rubbing a thumb over Peter's cheek. He could almost still see the tears that had pricked at the corner of Peter's eyes, leaking out and slipping over his face as Chris had held him, Peter's lips mouthing words against the base of Chris' cock as he'd spilled himself down Peter's throat.

"Maybe it's not the car parts turning me on," Chris pointed out, pitching his voice low enough so that it wouldn't carry.

Peter rolled his eyes, but the smile on his lips belied the action.

"Are you stopping by later?" Chris asked, hoping the answer was yes. He'd ridden his bike to the garage, weaving in and out of the traffic. And Chris wasn't ashamed to admit that when the bike had roared to life under him that morning, he'd thought of what it would be like to bend Peter over it and fuck him. Or maybe to straddle it and have Peter fuck himself on Chris' cock. Hell, if they had time, there was no reason why they couldn't do both.

Peter shook his head. "No. There's still a few things I need to do tonight. I just wanted to tell you to be ready for 7:00 tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?" Chris was confused. The only thing he knew of that was happening the next night was the birthday party for Peter's brother-in-law. And he only knew about that because Derek had continually asked them what he should get his dad - "There's no point in getting him alcohol, because Peter always buys him a bottle of something ridiculously expensive. And I debated on slippers, but Erica pointed out that I may as well just call him old to his face and be done with it, if I do that." - for about a week.

"Yes, tomorrow," Peter continued, like he expected Chris to know exactly what he was talking about. "Michael's birthday party. I'll pick you up at 7:00."

Chris felt the breath stick in his throat for a moment. Because that was more than just sex, more than Peter turning up and dropping to his knees. That was meeting people, meeting Peter's _family_. Not that he hadn't met most of them already, given that Derek had worked for him for the past two years, but that was different. It wasn't meeting them in the 'oh, hey, Derek's mom stopped by on her way to work because Derek forgot his lunch' way, it was meeting them in the 'I know what your brother sounds like when he comes' way. This wasn't Peter riding Chris on the couch in his office, behind closed doors. This was the two of them. Together. At a family birthday party. A party that Chris had no reason to be at, beyond the thing he had going with Peter.

"So," Peter said, breaking into Chris' thoughts. "7:00?"

Chris found himself nodding before he realised it. Because, sure, he had something with Peter, but maybe it was about to become something more. "7:00's fine, Peter."

The smile on Peter's face widened, and Chris was struck by the sudden realisation that he'd never actually seen Peter truly smile before. Chris had seen him smirk, and he'd seen Peter grin as he sank to his knees and reached out for Chris' belt, but he'd never seen the kind of smile that was currently on Peter's face, free and easy.

"Excellent. Wear the blue shirt; it brings out the colour of your eyes." Peter leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Chris' lips, only pulling back when the sharp wolf-whistle from Erica pierced the air.

Stepping back, Peter brushed at his suit jacket, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. "7:00," he repeated, like the time wasn't already burned indelibly into Chris' mind.

"I'll be ready," Chris promised, already planning on throwing the blue shirt Peter was talking about through the wash so it would be wearable for the party.

Peter nodded and turned away, and Chris couldn't stop himself from reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Peter's wrist, tugging him back. The kiss was brief, Chris' teeth nipping at Peter's lower lip in the way he'd discovered Peter liked.

Chris ran his tongue over Peter's reddened lip before breaking the kiss entirely. "Now you can go."

There was an exasperated sigh from Peter, but his eyes were bright. "Tomorrow, Christopher." The words held a promise beyond a birthday party with Peter's family.

"Tomorrow," Chris agreed. He couldn't wait.


End file.
